8-15-28 (How Would You Feel – Ed Sheeran)

Cosmically speaking, the twelve years Grace and I spent together is less than a blink, not even a blip on the eternal radar, and definitely not long enough for me. All the time in the world wouldn't satisfy me. I lived for millennia before her most distant ancestors were even considerations in the back of Dad's mind. Time meant almost nothing to me at any other time...but the seven months we spent being engaged seemed much longer than they had any right to be.

I don't know whether to blame excitement or nerves either. Both are equally guilty.

It's not like our lives were being drastically uprooted with this ceremony, but both our nerves were aflutter any time we thought about it for too long. Nobody's last name was changing because I don't technically have one to begin with, I didn't know my vessel's last name, and she refused to take Shurley as hers when Dad later suggested the idea. We all thought she was still kinda mad at him, but she claimed that, "That's not even his real last name so it doesn't make sense for me to take it. And last time I checked I'm not marrying Chuck either." If it became too big of an issue I suppose I could just become a Harbinger, but I don't think there's another Lucifer for me to get confused for without it.

Our relationship itself wouldn't be changing much either, aside from its official status. We lived and traveled together long before we even started dating, and we were far from Puritan when it came to affection once we got together. We bickered and nitpicked like any other couple, though our arguments usually included spells and potions instead of bake sales and household chores. A lot of folks in town thought we were married already just based on us picking on each other; the engagement announcement on the church bulletin board shocked quite a few people.

So of course my mind started racing with thoughts of "Do we really need to do this? What are we trying to prove?" and "What if she only said yes because it's 'what you're supposed to do' in that situation?"

She could've smacked me for that last one, she said so herself, but she just kissed me so hard it took her breath and promised that she would've asked me if I'd waited too much longer. She wasn't in this for the tradition, she was in this for us and all our little oddities.

The ceremony, in all honesty, was purely an excuse to get dressed up and throw a party for us and our family. Grace spent weeks poring over designs and materials so she could then spend several more weeks making outfits for the entire wedding party of nine: Dad (who was the officiant of course), my brothers, Amara, Rowena and Mary. Sam, Dean and Crowley only narrowly dodged a very flowy and floral addition to their wardrobes, and because of this they were not offended to be left off the groomsmen list. Grace later confided in me that they seemed to have forgotten about Christmas, and that she had some particularly ugly handmade sweaters in mind for them.

The location was a no-brainer, but it still took all four angels - Michael included now that he's back and we're on better terms - to find and set up all the decorations at the cabin. Well, in the general vicinity of the cabin anyway. It was actually closer to the waterfall than the house itself. An arbor of red and yellow roses stood in front of the cave entrance where we would stand for the vows. We didn't bother with a fancy rug to mark the path since it was so far into the forest, and instead raked the leaves off to the side and the younger angels drove pole-mounted lanterns into the ground at the edges. Michael and I carried old church pews, which Grace rescued from an estate sale, down the hill and arranged them in a semi-circle in the clearing. Most of her coven friends from the battle with Michael and a few folks from back home had RSVP'd, as well as our usual pack of misfits. It was a much bigger group than I expected, but, and to quote my fiancée, "If we can feed everybody that shows up with Chick-fil-a catering and pizza, the more the merrier."

As we tied gold streamers to bouquets and attempted to get the tablecloths straight in spite of the breeze that kept blowing, Michael became perplexed and turned to me with a question that snatched the non-existent rug from under me, "Lucifer, is it not human tradition for the bride's father to escort her down the aisle?" he regarded the flowers in his hand as if they held the answer, "None of the male guests are her kin, so who will walk with Grace?"

All of our rustling and fidgeting stopped cold. It was so easy to forget that he didn't know her side of Creed's story...it was all so long ago, and it didn't help that we actively tried to forget her darkest moments, "Her...her father is dead." Castiel spoke up after some time, "And they weren't close when he wasn't, from what I gather."

Gabriel nodded along, readjusting the bow he tied around the stems, "Dude was a dick, Mike. She wouldn't want him here even if he was still kickin'...but you have a point." he knit his brows together in concentration, "She didn't ask Sam or Dean I don't think. Maybe Crowley is?"

I shook my head, "She hasn't asked anybody. Hasn't even mentioned it." I distinctly remembered asking if she wanted me to walk down from the house with her, but she shut that down immediately; she didn't want me to see the dress before I was "supposed" to, not to avoid superstitions but because she wanted one of her photographer buddies to get a good shot of my face when she enters the meadow. It was her big day, so I hadn't argued about the decision then, but the fact that she would walk without an escort suddenly felt like a thorn lodged inside my boot. Is that what she actually wanted, or did she feel like she didn't have another option? I wanted to ask her, but I didn't want to run the risk of ruining the whole wedding's mood over a single detail.

We returned to the cabin to get dressed, all of us now equally distressed by our own wandering minds.

All the ladies except the bride-to-be were in the living room when we arrived, putting finishing touches on their hair and makeup and strapping on their sandals. I had to admit the fiery color scheme worked for all of them, even Amara who'd never worn anything but the darkest black available. Grace managed to make them all look like woodland nymphs, so I could only imagine how divine she must look...

Mary was quick to pick up on my searching gaze - Sam had to get his brains from somewhere I guess - and tilted her head towards the second story, "She's up there with your dad. And she told us to keep you down here."

Amara sensed the spike of panic that arose at the mere thought of my almost-wife and father alone together – I was worried we would end up preacherless when all was said and done - and tried to embrace it away, "He just wanted to talk to her. Everything's fine."

"He say about what?" Dad wanting to "talk" rarely ever ended well, and if he screwed today up Grace would forget the meaning of forgiveness. So would I.

"Didn' seem like anything serious. Prob'bly asking about her vows, something teeny..." Rowena interjected, also aiming for a reassuring tone while primping her hair. Their indifference didn't help my nerves, but I didn't have time to fuss now. We were running behind as it was.

Amara practically shoved us out the door once we changed shirts and shoes - Grace wasn't picky about our pants as long as they were dark - so the procession could get going. Guests had already been shown the way by the Winchester brothers and Crowley, and the band waited on the makeshift dancefloor to the left of the river.

My heart would've stopped right then if I had one.

Dad wasn't under the trellis. The damn priest was late to the wedding...

All three of my groomsmen turned to give me bewildered stares, which I shot right back at them as subtly as possible. We all prayed the congregation wouldn't notice our startled expressions and realize something had gone sideways within the first five minutes. The girls started to appear not long after we were settled into our places, but still no Dad in sight. For that matter, there was no Grace at the back of the line either.

Gabriel, ever the joker with horrid comedic timing, suggested under his breath that our father had kidnapped His future daughter-in-law to make His objection to the union known. Were there not so many witnesses around, I would've thrown him into the water.

My motion was arrested, however, by the sound of a familiar song and the sight that followed: Grace, a gold and rose-colored vision more lovely than all Eden's gardens combined, beaming and walking arm-in-arm with Dad.

That evening as the fireflies and fairy lights lit up the trees, the guests milled around with food and drink and I pulled Grace to a corner of the portable stage for one of the slow dances, "So I'm guessing that's what Dad wanted you for earlier? To ask to escort you?"

She smiled as she swayed along with me, her head leaning against my shoulder at just the right angle that the flowers in her crown tickled me when she moved, "He wanted to thank me for looking after you when He left…He said there was no way to really make up for all the time y'all lost, or for what I lost with my daddy either, but He wanted to try and repay me any way He could." When she glanced past me to look at Him, her eyes were soft and happy for once, rather than glimmering with thinly-veiled spite, "There was also a rip in one of his sleeves and he needed me to sew it back so it wouldn't be flopping around."

"Wow…"